


the pull of the stars

by midnight sun (notyoongs)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, Hurt/Comfort, I'm so sorry, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Melancholy, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, Third Year Hinata Shouyou and Kageyama Tobio, gratuitous volleyball metaphors, shut up they're soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:48:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29775033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notyoongs/pseuds/midnight%20sun
Summary: it’s not as though kageyama will never play volleyball again. but as he watches the ball spiral toward a soaring hinata, still small and yet seeming larger than life as he jumps high above the net, kageyama realizes he might never play thiskindof volleyball again: the kind of volleyball that makes him feel alive, heart thumping, stomach twisting; the kind of volleyball that makes him think of those words his grandfather once spoke to him—one day. one day, someone even stronger will find you. just wait. just you wait—(or: on the night before their last national tournament, kageyama and hinata learn something about volleyball, about each other, and about endings and beginnings.)
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 26
Kudos: 146





	the pull of the stars

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! this is my humble offering to the haikyuu fandom.... please let me in..... i love these two with my whole heart and i'm forever [shakes fist] that we saw next to nothing about their third year so i said fuck it i'll do it myself. this has manga spoilers if you've only watched the anime thus far, so be warned!
> 
> other than that, please enjoy my kagehinas ;_; they are good boys
> 
> and if you'd like music, i listened exclusively to novo amor while writing this, particularly state lines, alps, and repeat until death.

hinata calls for a toss, and all at once, kageyama realizes this is the last time.

_here,_ at least—in this gym, its high windows casting long streaks of sunlight across the hardwood early in the morning. here, at least—at this school, the one that had, admittedly, not been his first choice but had been the right one, in the end.

here, at least—in these evergreen tumultuous and triumphant years of their lives, in which they’d grown and withered and learned what it meant to claw at every inch of glorious victory they could.

it’s only practice. kageyama has had thousands of practices in this gym, and hinata has called for thousands of tosses in this gym, and kageyama has bent the very air around them to hinata’s will thousands of times in this gym, but all at once—

this is the last time.

all at once, it is the night before nationals—their _last_ nationals, their last chance to snatch the title of champions and warriors and _kings_ from the long line of valiant opponents they will face in the coming week. in mere minutes, ukai and takeda will finally wrangle the team from their wild determination to hit one last serve, run one last diving drill, and bid them goodnight with a vague threat to get enough sleep and wake ready to fight. in mere minutes, he’ll exit this gym as karasuno’s setter for the last time, and he’ll… go home. he’ll rest. he’ll wake tomorrow and embark on the final leg of this three-year journey with hopes of finally standing atop the national rankings.

and isn’t it strange? kageyama knew it was coming, but for months, he’s been ignoring the truth of it all, the implications of what he and the rest of the team have been working tirelessly toward: his last national tournament means the end of something. the end of it all. once they return from nationals, victors or not, there will be no more practices. no more early mornings racing hinata across the school grounds in their unspoken agreement of a rivalry that they both intend to continue, well— _forever._

in a week, there will simply be no more karasuno volleyball club, at least for kageyama. in only a few months, he’ll graduate high school altogether. but this end also means… the beginning of something else. with the closing of this door will come the opening of another—one he knows will still be filled with bright gymnasium lights, the sound of sneakers squeaking and fans cheering, the perfect weight of a volleyball in his hands before he sends it soaring across the court.

it’s not as though kageyama will never play volleyball again. but as he watches the ball spiral toward a soaring hinata, still small and yet seeming larger than life as he jumps high above the net, kageyama realizes he might never play _this_ kind of volleyball again: the kind of volleyball that makes him feel _alive,_ heart thumping, stomach twisting; the kind of volleyball that makes him think of those words his grandfather once spoke to him— _one day. one day, someone even stronger will find you. just wait. just you wait_ —

the kind of volleyball he knows he’ll only ever play with hinata shoyo standing at his side.

it’s not as though kageyama will never play volleyball again. but that open door on the other side of nationals and graduation doesn’t necessarily include _hinata_ among those lights and cheers and perfect tosses, and he’s happy for hinata, of course, and it’s not like they _have_ to play together, and it’s childish to believe they’d always remain this duo, this _set_ after high school when there’s a whole world of possibility for both of them out there, but—

_but._

kageyama can’t help it. the world is opening up for him, but it can do so only upon the back of the quiet death of his time at karasuno, with hinata, which, despite so many early protests, has been… three years of feeling at _home._

how bittersweet.

how _wrong._

the volleyball comes to a halt directly in front of hinata, and the moment before it drops, his hand slams against it and sends it barrelling over the net. kageyama hears the satisfying slam of the ball against the floor somewhere on the other side of the court, but he hasn’t taken his eyes off of hinata. it’s been three years, but hinata still gets that look of complete awe and exhilaration on his face when he hits a particularly good spike, like it’s the first time. it’s always the first time.

hinata hits the ground, barely hesitates before he turns to kageyama with that sun-bright smile, and kageyama thinks only of how often he’s failed to appreciate this very moment for what it is.

see, all at once, kageyama tobio is eighteen and he’s staring out at a world of uncertainty and possibility, and he realizes he doesn’t really want it—not without hinata. so he has one last tournament. one last chance at nationals. one last round with the freak duo of karasuno.

for the first time in his life, he wouldn’t mind waiting just a little longer for the biggest game of his life.

☀

there’s something heavy between them as kageyama and hinata walk through quiet streets littered by buzzing street lights. it’s a well-worn path from karasuno to kageyama’s home, one that he’s often walked just like this—with a warm presence at his side and a lofty voice talking a hundred miles a minute about upcoming tournaments and which players were featured in _volleyball monthly._ but tonight, it’s only the _tick tick tick_ of hinata’s bike spokes that punctuate the silence, and their falling footsteps, and occasionally—

“did you just trip over the sidewalk?”

“shut up, kageyama.”

“learn how to walk first, you idiot.”

but even then, there’s no bite behind the words. in truth, there hasn’t been bite behind those words for well over two years, but hinata doesn’t even give him one of those crooked grins, the ones that make him look boyish and reckless, like they’re always in on each other’s jokes. so maybe, then, hinata feels it, too—this weight of nationals, the looming inevitability of what comes _after_ tomorrow. before a big tournament, it’s usually hard to calm hinata down and get him to keep two feet on the ground, but perhaps even the human equivalent of sunshine has a limit.

and that limit is— _what happens next? what if it’s terrible?_

_or worse, perhaps—what if it’s everything they’ve always dreamed of?_

kageyama wants to ask him about it, but he’s not sure he could put any of it into words. he was never the best with those, anyway, and as much as he’s grown in the past three years at karasuno—and as much as hinata knows him like the stitching on a volleyball—this is so much more than communication during practice or the first time he was able to admit that hinata is actually, honest to god, his best friend. for three years, he’s learned what it means to connect and to hold on and to fight for something this good, and now… now, he must let go. there is no name for the thunder inside of him.

so they walk in relative silence, and when they arrive at the kageyama household, hinata waits diligently in the entryway for kageyama to retrieve the reason he’s come here anyway: his favourite kneepads. somehow, kageyama accidentally took them home yesterday, but hinata swears up and down they’ll never win nationals without those kneepads.

at the door, kageyama hands them over, and then—stops. his hand is still closed around the kneepads, but now hinata’s are, too, and hinata pauses with his mouth forming the _thanks, kageyama-kun!_ he’s gotten only halfway through. when he looks up at kageyama, there’s a question in those wild eyes and a waning grin on those pink lips and he’s become illuminated, sort of, by the light outside next to the door, and like this he somehow looks like he did the first time kageyama ever tossed to him.

it’s been three years, but kageyama remembers it well—as though the entire world had fallen out from under them and it was just a volleyball and hinata shoyo _flying._ he’d been illuminated then, too. he’d accepted something from kageyama then, too. and now his hair is tamer, shorted on the sides, and his jaw is more defined, and he’s taller, _stronger,_ on the cusp of becoming a man who will, kageyama knows, conquer the world whether it be through volleyball or other means.

it’s silly, really. hinata is just standing in the doorway with kneepads in his hand, but all at once, kageyama realizes this is the end. after nationals, they won’t _do_ this anymore. and after graduation, hinata will no doubt be out of the gate first, thirsty for the next great challenge to overcome, the next great champion to defeat. he might not even look back, not until _kageyama_ is that great challenge once more, and even then—

even then.

all at once, kageyama realizes he’s going to lose this. he’s going to lose _him._ and he doesn’t want hinata to go.

“kageyama?”

“um,” he says, wading through the oppressive cloud of emotion filling his lungs. “you don’t… uh—you don’t _have_ to.”

hinata’s brows furrow. “have to what?”

kageyama swallows. “go.”

“go?”

“ _home._ ”

hinata stares at him. kageyama stares back. his fingers grip the kneepads a little too tightly, and he’s not _bad_ at talking to hinata—not anymore, not after three years. but there’s so much more to this than even he is aware of, a need that is trembling beneath his fingertips.

then, quietly, hinata repeats, “i don’t have to go home?”

it sounds embarrassing to his ears when someone _else_ says it, and kageyama inwardly blanches at his own suggestion before adding hurriedly, “i—i mean, it’s late and you live far away and we have to get up super early tomorrow so it’s just— _easier—_ ” they’re all excuses. and kageyama doesn’t know _why_ he’s making excuses like this, stumbling over his own words as though he’s never spoken to hinata before. it’s not like hinata has never stayed over at his house before, or vice versa; they’ve done it frequently over the past three years, so often that they have toothbrushes they leave at each other’s houses. kageyama’s mother keeps a steady stock of _hinata’s_ favourite snacks at their house.

but in the quiet moments that follow the excuses, kageyama is finally able to put a name to the writhing mass of emotion within him: he’s feeling vulnerable. he’s _afraid._ this is their last nationals, their last tournament, their last time playing together just like this—with this team, in these uniforms, with this history behind them and nothing more to reach for. even if they do play together or against each other in the future, it will never be like this again. kageyama has always been looking ahead, to the next goal; he’s wanted to play for the national team since he was just a kid, and he _will,_ whether with hinata or without. but that doesn’t matter right now.

right now, he’s about to leave behind the most important thing in his life, and he’s vulnerable, and most of all—he doesn’t want to be alone.

thankfully, hinata doesn’t make him say it. perhaps he can’t tell, but hinata has always been more perceptive of other people’s feelings. they’ve been best friends for this long, and hinata has struggled through enough of these awkward, haltering conversations about wants and fears and feelings for him to surely understand, at least, that kageyama doesn’t want hinata to stay over just so he can get a bit more sleep. they both know hinata won’t get enough sleep whether or not he bikes home now.

but rather than force kageyama to admit there’s something more, endlessly flustering him, hinata just nods once, finally taking the kneepads from kageyama but stepping back into the house as he does so. “okay, that’s a good point,” he says. “i don’t really wanna bike all the way over the mountain, anyway. let me call my mom quick, though.”

kageyama just nods, letting hinata step past him and lead the way back into the house—already more at home here than he seems even in the gym, and even as kageyama’s mother calls, “is that shoyo?” from somewhere deeper in the house and hinata calls back, “i’m home!” with that trilling laughter of his, kageyama can already feel himself relax. feels the tension bleed out like he’s doing a round of stretches after a particularly hard game. he’ll let hinata fill up all of the empty spaces between his rib cage, the silence and uncertainty of the future, and then maybe, just for tonight, the _what happens next_ won’t seem so daunting.

☀

in the bathroom, hinata and kageyama brush their teeth side by side, stealing glances at each other in the mirror until kageyama gets too weirded out by it all and, elbowing hinata, says, “you brush your teeth weird.”

hinata elbows him back. “ _you_ brush your teeth weird.”

“you’re gonna wear down the brush with how aggressive you are.”

“i’m trying to clean my teeth, yamayama-kun. you have to be aggressive.”

“do you think having white teeth will compensate for your lack of height?”

hinata kicks him at that, a quick one to the shin, and kageyama yelps with the sudden pain before he reaches for hinata’s head with his hand. but hinata ducks out of the way before kageyama can get a grip on his hair—a habit that hasn’t died even in three years—and instead snatches both of kageyama’s wrists with his hands.

“i’ll blind the competition with my teeth,” hinata protests, although it’s through the toothbrush in his mouth, so it comes out muffled. kageyama has him backed against the bathroom sink, wrestling with both hands as he uses his six inches of height on hinata to loom over him as menacingly as possible.

“even blinding them won’t keep them from taking advantage of your shitty receives.”

“ _hey,_ i’m a great receiver now,” hinata grits out, trying to force kageyama’s hands downward. “i got a fucking— _award_ —”

“yamaguchi made that in his basement, dumbass—”

“an award is an _award_ —”

“boys!” kageyama’s mother’s voice suddenly cuts through their argument, startling the both of them. “you have a big day tomorrow! stop fighting and go to sleep.”

kageyama casts a guilty glance toward the open door, but it’s this moment of hesitation that proves to be his downfall—for the next thing he knows, hinata has wrestled a single hand out of kageyama’s grip and taken his toothbrush out of his mouth. he then proceeds to wipe the slobbery, toothpaste-filled bristles over kageyama’s cheek, giggling madly when kageyama makes a noise of utter surprise and horror, and chooses to ignore his mother’s orders in favour of chasing hinata down the hallway, toothpaste flying behind him.

the spat in the bathroom, if anything, makes kageyama feel a little better about the weight on his chest, knowing there are some things that will surely never change no matter the time or distance between them. but the moment they _do_ settle down and turn in for the night—kageyama in his bed and hinata on a futon on the floor—it returns all at once.

kageyama finds himself staring up at his ceiling in the darkness, keenly aware that with every passing minute is one minute closer to nationals. one minute closer to the beginning of the end.

one minute closer to never having _this_ again.

still, if he sleeps, he’ll lose hours at a time, and his mind turns too much to allow him to rest. he thinks only of their last nationals, and the three years that have led to this last nationals, and how well his serves did at the last qualifier, and how will the first years fare at their first nationals, and is hinata going to get a fever again, and what if they don’t win, and what if they _do—_

he thinks and thinks, endless fears and worries and desires overcrowding his mind and when he thinks, then, of his fears and worries and desires for _beyond_ nationals, kageyama feels as though he’s drowning and drowning and drowning and _drowning and drowning and_ —

“kageyama-kun?”

kageyama blinks, the shape of the light fixture on his ceiling now apparent to his adjusted eyes. there’s slight rustling to his left, down near the floor, and it’s hinata’s voice that cuts through the haze and overthinking that is holding him captive.

and all at once, everything is… quiet.

“yeah?” asks kageyama, voice thick.

more rustling. “are you asleep?”

kageyama’s gut reaction is to say something like, _obviously i’m not asleep if i’m talking to you, dumbass._ but the circumstance and the tone of hinata’s voice holds him back, forces him to merely loll his head on his pillow until he’s facing where hinata is resting, and says, “no.”

“oh.” a heavy pause, and then—“i can’t sleep.”

kageyama’s stomach clenches for a reason he can’t put his finger on. “me neither.”

“oh,” hinata says again. and then—nothing. but it feels like they’re both waiting for something that the other isn’t saying. so they’re both awake. so they both can’t sleep. so kageyama still feels like he’s drowning, but hinata has floated along with a shitty lifeboat that can only fit two. kageyama wants to get in the damn boat. but all he’s known for so much of his life, at least when it comes to volleyball, is making his own boat, or passing up other boats, or just fucking swimming.

he’s not great at metaphors and literature hasn’t been his strong suit. but what is he knows is—he’s spent the past three years learning about what it means to connect, to truly work as a team, to let someone else lead for once, to adjust for his spikers, to ask for _help,_ to trust other people—

to trust hinata.

but hinata isn’t saying it either, isn’t putting words to this nameless thing that has become apparent between them. he isn’t asking what kageyama realizes he _wants_ hinata to ask.

kageyama counts to ten. he takes a deep breath. and then, just as he opens his mouth, hinata breaks the silence again with a, “please don’t make fun of me, but can i come up there?”

“why would i make fun of you?” kageyama asks, almost defensive, but he gets it; they’ve both been liberal with their teasing over the years, taking every opportunity and making every excuse to get a good bout of bantering in. but this is different. and before hinata can take it back, kageyama adds, “yeah.”

and then hinata is right there, crammed onto the other side of kageyama’s bed. he’s not taking up much space, despite kageyama crowding against the wall so they can both fit, and when he glances over to see hinata almost hanging off of the bed, he thinks it might be the first time in their entire friendship that hinata is purposely trying to stay out of kageyama’s personal space. see, it’s normally—hands that grab for his merely to pull and wrestle and fight, and big big big eyes too close for comfort as he demands answers to any question he ever asks, and _toss to me toss to me hey kageyama toss to me._ this isn’t the first time they’ve been in the same bed, either, and yet—

kageyama furtively turns his face toward the ceiling when hinata’s eyes find his in the darkness. his cheeks burn for no discernable reason, as though hinata isn’t his best friend, as though they haven’t been a _pair_ for three years already. maybe it has to do with tomorrow. maybe it has to do with after tomorrow.

and anyway, it doesn’t matter, because if hinata falls asleep like that, he’ll have a sore back in the morning and what if he doesn’t play his best because of it? what if they lose nationals because kageyama doesn’t know how to sleep in the same bed as his own best friend? (and why should _sleeping in the same bed_ be so strange when they’ve— _when they’ve_ —)

“are you sleeping now?” asks hinata.

“no,” says kageyama. “are you?”

“your bed is kind of tiny, kageyama-kun.”

kageyama huffs, cheeks burning hotter when he mutters, “then come here.”

he hears rather than sees hinata shift, lifting his head. “sorry?”

“i _said,_ ” repeats kageyama, this time through gritted teeth, “just _get over here,_ dumbass. if you have a sore back or neck tomorrow, yamaguchi and takeda-sensai _and_ ukai-sensei will kill you and then you’ll come back to kill me because they killed you and then neither of us will be playing and they can’t win without us and we have to _win,_ hinata—”

“okay, _okay,_ ” hinata flings out a hand in an attempt to smack it over kageyama’s mouth, but in the darkness, he instead hits kageyama’s nose. “just shut up already.”

“ _you_ shut up. and that hurt!” he finds hinata’s arm in the dark and yanks him over, both of them doing rather aggressive tousling in an attempt to find a comfortable position. “and turn around, _fuck._ ”

“are you saying my breath smells bad?”

“where did you get that from?”

“would you— _why is your leg there?_ ”

“where else am i supposed to put my leg?”

“not _there_ —”

“hinata, stop moving already.”

“where’s your other arm? you’re gonna hurt it if you hold it like that.”

“i’m going to kick you out of my be—” kageyama doesn’t get a chance to finish the sentiment, because hinata chooses that moment to take hold of his arm and tug it over his waist, so kageyama is more or less… _holding_ hinata. it’s only once they both fall silent that kageyama realizes they’re practically spooning, hinata’s back facing kageyama’s chest, and considering the size of this bed, they’re only inches from being pressed together entirely. there are too many gangly teenage boy limbs here, their legs almost tangled, kageyama’s arm cushioning his own head, and hinata hasn’t let go of his hand. kageyama doesn’t really want him to.

in the silence, he’s keenly aware of the pounding of his own heart, and of how vaguely intimate this position is—or could be, if he leaned in a little more or hinata just _sighed_ and settled backwards enough to knock their bony bodies together. but even with the way his heart stirs and his cheeks burn, kageyama knows having hinata this close is already calming the storm inside of him otherwise. it’s the first time all night that he’s felt anything close to peaceful. _tethered._ he might lose hinata in only a few short months, but for now— _for now_ —

kageyama closes his eyes, drops his head until his forehead is pressed against the back of hinata’s neck. hinata’s skin is warm. alive. he’s so alive and he makes _kageyama_ feel alive, and it’s not even about volleyball anymore—what kageyama feels for this sunspot of a boy in his bed. maybe it hasn’t been for a long time.

so gently and so slowly that kageyama almost doesn’t notice, hinata threads their fingers together.

in barely more than a whisper, hinata says, “this is really it, huh?”

kageyama exhales. all at once, the storm is still and silent, the winds ceasing, the clouds dispersing. of course—he should have known hinata would be thinking the same things, worrying about the same things. they’ve matched each other step for step in this journey, and despite all of their promises to continue fighting for and against each other long after high school, this is still the end. since the two of them joined karasuno, kageyama has been looking forward to the day where they will finally be on opposing sides of the net again. but he wishes he didn’t have to let go of _this_ to get _that._

“yeah,” sighs kageyama. “it’ll be a shame if we don’t actually win this time.”

“are you more nervous or less nervous than you were last year?”

realistically, he shouldn’t be more nervous; they lost an amazing crop of players after last nationals, but the team they have now is incredibly strong. incredibly _thirsty_ for a victory, particularly the third years who, along with the team from two years ago, managed to drag the rotting carcass of karasuno back into an era of strength and glory.

but it doesn’t really have to do with the strength of the team. not this year.

“more,” kageyama decides. “i’m confident, but… anything could happen.”

“i just want to stay on the court forever. it feels like this year, we have to make the past three years worth it. like if we don’t make it all the way, then we… then i wasted another three years.”

kageyama presses his forehead into hinata’s neck a little harder. “you haven’t wasted them.”

“i know. i’m just saying.”

he thinks of these three years they’ve spent together at karasuno—the endless practices, drills, matches. the fights and the tears. the growth. even now, he can feel the phantom growing pains of these three years, aches that have nothing to do with physicality and age. that first day at karasuno feels like a lifetime ago now, considering all they’ve learned and accomplished. it’s not often he likes to think of the person he was in those first weeks, the player that his time in middle school had made him, but—even in those embarrassing memories is the first seed of something more. the first blossom. the first sign of summer.

there was hinata. always, there was hinata.

“do you remember the first quick?” asks hinata, perhaps thinking of the same thing. “the one we did in first year?”

“yeah, you kept your eyes closed like an idiot.”

“and you got mad at me when i wanted to open them.”

he grins. “i wanted you to trust me.”

hinata sighs—“i did. i do.”

“it’s weird to think about that.” kageyama has chosen to always look ahead, to keep reaching for greater heights. but now he thinks back to who they were as first years—uncoordinated and feral, grasping at any semblance of victory they could. after three years, they have an arsenal of well-hewn weapons with which to attack, the knowledge and experience to ground them in confidence, and an intuition for the game that their first year selves would gape at. they’re so much more than they were—and so much more than they could have ever hoped to be. but he thinks back to the pair of troublesome children they were three years ago, and he wants nothing more to take their hands, look them in the eye, and tell them it’s all going to be worth it.

perhaps they’d need a good smack upside the head as well, but it all remains.

“you never would have let me cuddle you back then, kageyama-kun,” says hinata, his hand tightening on kageyama’s like the comment is going to scare him off.

but kageyama huffs out a, “you would never have _wanted_ to cuddle me back then.”

“you were a little prickly.”

“i wanted to belong somewhere,” breathes kageyama, squeezing his eyes shut. somehow, it’s easier to say any of this in the dark. “i looked at other people and i didn’t get it. but even if i tried, none of them could stick it out with me long enough for me to understand what it meant to belong, or connect with someone. it was like me being this genius setter or whatever put this huge boundary around me, and the way i treated my teammates forced them to strengthen that boundary, and then—” he stops, throat getting tight.

there’s only a brief pause, and then hinata says, lilting and on the verge of a joke—“and then you met me.”

kageyama knows he means to tease. but it’s the truth, isn’t it?

“and then i met you,” he agrees. “and you didn’t care about any of that. and you fought for me. and you made me want to fight for something other than being the best for the first time.”

all at once, all at once, all at once. the world grows clearer by the word that drops from his mouth.

“you made me want to fight for something, too,” says hinata. “i hope you know that. i think of how far we’ve come and everything we’ve done in the past three years, and it’s crazy to me, and i know we don’t talk about feelings a lot, but you mean a lot to me, kageyama-kun. without you, i’d never be the volleyball player i am, and this might sound kind of insulting, but thank _fuck_ you couldn’t get into shiratorizawa.”

kageyama can’t help it—he snorts, some ugly sort of laugh, because he _couldn’t_ get into shiratorizawa, and he resented it at the time, knowing the strongest school in the prefecture had rejected him, but now he knows what a blessing it had been in the end. he wouldn’t be here. _they_ wouldn’t be here. and maybe he would have won nationals already with shiratorizawa, but winning nationals without _hinata_ just leaves him feeling vaguely empty. if he had to choose between a national championship title without hinata or always coming close with him, then it’s not much of a question at all.

he’d choose this. in a thousand lifetimes, he’d always choose this.

“i dunno. i think me and ushiwaka-san could have been best friends,” says kageyama.

“never say never. i bet you’ll be on the national team with him.” kageyama can hear the grin in hinata’s voice.

“you, too,” says kageyama, soft, soft. “you’ll be with us, too.”

he can _hear_ the way hinata swallows thickly at that, leaning back a little more into kageyama’s space. and there’s the future again—that great unknown, that next great challenge. kageyama _does_ want to be on the national team with ushijima, and hinata—and bokuto and sakusa and hoshiumi, and yeah, even miya atsumu, the bastard. but thinking of it again brings back the thunder, and the smell of lightning crackling somewhere over the ocean.

inhale. exhale. “gotta win nationals first, though,” he mutters.

“last one,” says hinata.

“last one,” agrees kageyama.

he knows now that hinata is feeling the same trepidation and uncertainty when it comes to this singular fact—that this nationals is their very last. but even then, he’s not sure either of them can find the words for it. and maybe they don’t need words, not when they know they’re not alone.

it’s easier to revert to old habits, so he says, “you better not get a fever.”

“shut up, kageyama,” hinata snaps immediately, accompanying the words with a swift elbow to the stomach. kageyama huffs in pain, digging his fingers into hinata’s side in retaliation. “that was _one_ time.”

“kind of an _important_ time.”

“why would you bring that up? you know that’s a sore spot for me, you asshole.”

“it’s like the time you served into the back of my _fucking_ head and then did perfectly fine the rest of the game. once you remember you’ve already gone through the worst thing you possibly can in that situation, it seems less scary.”

“ _ugh,_ ” hinata groans, slapping kageyama’s hand away from his side. “i hate that you’re kind of right.”

“i’m _always_ right.”

“you’re _always_ an insufferable pain in my ass.” he scoots across the bed as though he’s going to get off and go back to his silly futon on the floor, and through his own laughter, kageyama grabs for him, trying to drag hinata back.

“no, i was just kidding,” he says, pulling hinata back to him. “i’m sorry. i won’t bring it up again.” hinata huffs again, but he lets himself be dragged back into kageyama’s space, where kageyama wraps both arms around him, holding hinata flush to his own chest. “hinata. hinata. _hinata._ ”

“asshole.”

_“shoyo._ ”

hinata elbows him again, but there’s something airy about his voice when he says, “you do _not_ get to call me by my first name at a time like this, _tobio._ ”

“i said i was kidding.”

“well then, i just hope someone is there to hit your toss.” he wiggles in kageyama’s grasp. “now we’re even.” there’s that fond lilt to his voice, though, the same one kageyama knows is in his own tone, and it only takes a moment of terse silence for them both to let out exasperated giggles. and when those giggles die down, kageyama realizes he’s still holding hinata against him, closer than before, but hinata isn’t trying to move, so… kageyama doesn’t move either. he just presses his nose into the back of hinata’s head, that fiery hair brushing against his skin, and breathes.

for a time, neither of them says anything. and then hinata whispers, “we’ll win. we’ll win and be in all of the magazines and on every news station and little kids will look at us and decide to play volleyball because they think we’re the coolest people in the world.”

the part of kageyama that is still crawling with uncertainty wants to ask, _what if we don’t?_ but he’s learned in three years that arguing with hinata shoyo about winning any game, let alone _nationals,_ is futile. so they’re going to win. they have three years of growth behind them, and a team stronger than ever, and an aching desire. most of all, they have each other.

so instead, kageyama says, “it’s not really nationals that i’m worried about.”

“what do you mean?”

“i mean… after nationals.”

“what about it?”

kageyama curls his hand into the front of hinata’s shirt like a lifeline, giving himself the courage to admit it. but this is _hinata,_ the one person he trusts above all. if there’s anyone who will understand—as he’s thought so many times over the past three years—it’s hinata.

so—“i’m scared of what happens after we stop playing at karasuno. after we graduate and go off to do whatever we want.” he swallows again, a lump forming in his throat. “i’m scared of not having karasuno anymore, or this jersey to announce me, or a team who has worked for these things like me. i’m scared of not playing with you anymore. i’m scared it won’t feel the same. i’m scared that—” kageyama almost laughs, realizing his eyes have begun to sting with the threat of tears. his breath is shaky on the inhale, but he’s run out of steam, so he just buries his face in hinata’s hair and whispers, “i’m just scared.”

it feels silly to say it out loud now. kageyama tobio? scared of playing volleyball? scared of leaving high school and making the professional league bow to him, too? scared of making good on his own promises? it’s laughable at best. but in this soft, still moment with hinata in his arms, he knows he has to say it. he knows he has to say it to someone who will think it’s ridiculous and justified in equal measure, and who will understand him, and who will, ultimately, in that infinitely exasperating and endearing way of his, bring kageyama back from the brink of collapsing into his own deafening thoughts.

he almost wants hinata to laugh at him. but then his grip is being loosened, and hinata is turning over, leaving kageyama without anything to hide behind as they finally come face to face. hinata’s hair is already a little messed up from the pillow, and he looks small in the shirt he’s wearing—kageyama’s shirt. kageyama thinks suddenly of the last time they were here, albeit in hinata’s bed, under the cover of darkness, and how heavy his bones had seemed as he sunk into that bed, and how high he had felt off of earning their ticket to nationals for the third time, and how, above all, hinata’s lips had felt beneath his.

then hinata’s hands are on either side of his face, pulling him back to the yearning present, and hinata leans forward until their foreheads are touching, noses almost brushing. he takes a deep breath to match the wild beating of kageyama’s heart, and he says, “me, too. i’m scared, too, kageyama-kun.”

to him, hinata has always been synonymous with fearlessness. who else could constantly go up against opponents sometimes over a foot taller than him and truly believe he would win every time? who else would declare on their first day of joining a new team that he would be the ace despite not knowing how to receive a ball if his life depended on it? who else would face the king of the court and demand something out of him, again and again, in every practice, every game, every _moment_ of every practice and every game—the perfect toss, the perfect play?

he used to think hinata was the stupid sort of fearless who would walk into battle without a weapon. but the truth is that hinata simply believes in what he has been given, and what he has worked for, and what the people on his side are capable of pulling out of themselves, and him. but perhaps there are some things that frighten even hinata.

hinata squishes kageyama’s cheeks together a little, until his mouth is jutting out in a pout, and kageyama watches him with a pinched forehead. “what if it’s not the same?” whispers kageyama. he knows he’ll continue to play amazing volleyball, no matter what team he’s on. he’s going to the very top, after all—the top of the world. but the journey there is going to be hard-won and lonely at times, perhaps, and the truth is that he’s afraid he won’t _like_ it as much without hinata. even if they meet at the top—which they will—he’s afraid of always thinking back to these years, to this _moment,_ and aching in a way that no other spiker or championship title could ever soothe.

“it won’t be,” hinata whispers back. “that’s why it’s scary.”

“what if i don’t love it anymore?”

“impossible. you’ve loved volleyball since you could hold one. not being part of karasuno isn’t going to change that.”

“what if no other spiker can hit my toss?”

“you’re not in middle school anymore, kageyama. you’re not the king. not like that.”

“what if they don’t trust me?”

“you’re one of the best players in the whole country. they’d be stupid not to.”

kageyama’s brows furrow even further. hinata can be rational when he wants to be, or perhaps he’s just good at making kageyama feel better. maybe he just _knows_ kageyama, knows those thoughts that run rampant through his head when he begins to doubt himself—because they don’t look so unlike the thoughts _hinata_ has, too.

“but i get it,” hinata adds, relaxing his grip. instead, his thumbs begin to rub slow, slow circles into kageyama’s cheekbones. “i don’t want to let go of karasuno either. not after everything we’ve done here and everything karasuno has done for us. well—” he hesitates, thoughtful. “i could go without having to see tsukishima every day, but you know what i mean.”

he does.

“it’s not going to be the same,” repeats hinata, turning his attention back to kageyama. even in the darkness, his eyes seem to be shine when he’s so focused like this, “but does that have to be a bad thing? we’ll get to do new things and meet new people and play against stronger opponents. it’ll be hard, but volleyball isn’t fun without a challenge. we’ll get to learn and grow even more, and we’ll finally get to claw our way to the top. all the way. you and me.” he drops one hand to press his fist against kageyama’s heart.

it’s nice. it’s _nice._ that’s what kageyama wants, and even then, there’s just that one small hiccup in the way—

“but we won’t get to do all of that together anymore.” kageyama’s voice is small—smaller than it’s ever been, and vulnerable, and _desperate._ he’s never relied on another person like this before, never had such a partner in every aspect of his life, not just volleyball. but maybe that’s part of it, too—it’s not just that kageyama won’t get to play volleyball with hinata the same way anymore. it’s that kageyama won’t get to do _anything_ with hinata the same way anymore. no more lunches spent pouring over new plays and videos of other teams. no more early morning practices spent hitting toss after toss. no more walking each other home late at night with a meat bun in one hand and a volleyball in the other.

they’re _graduating high school._ and after that—well, they’ll still be friends. they’ll still be best friends. they’ll text and chat and send each other stupid memes. but it won’t be like this. and that’s what scares kageyama most of all.

over his heart, hinata’s hand flattens out—palm resting against kageyama’s chest, pressing warmth through his shirt. suddenly, kageyama thinks it foolish of him to have never _said_ anything, even after he realized the depth of his own feelings for hinata. but fear or hesitation held him back, not wanting to ruin the partnership between them, not wanting distractions. and now it’s all almost over. and it will never be like this again.

with a voice that bends and almost breaks, hinata replies, “no, we won’t.”

and kageyama says, heart pressed so hard against his ribcage that he fears it’ll tear through his chest and right into hinata’s hand—“i don’t want to stop playing with you.” then, a little quieter: “i don’t want to play without you, shoyo.”

hinata’s right—he’ll still love it. he might love it more than he did high school volleyball, because he’ll get to face off against and play with the best players in the entire world. he’ll have infinite space to grow and try new things and be challenged, and he won’t have to worry about doing homework when he gets home from practice. but that still doesn’t mean he wants to stop playing with hinata, who has always been his greatest challenge, who is the one he was waiting for all this time, who is the _someone stronger_ his grandfather promised him would show up.

god, hinata is right here, and kageyama already misses him.

when hinata inhales, it sounds wet, like he’s on the verge of tears. but then he lets out this little laugh, thick in his throat, and he says, “imagine your first year self hearing you say that. he’d throw you across the room.”

“he didn’t want to play without you, either. he was just too much of a prickly idiot to admit it.”

hinata laughs again, half-hearted, and presses their foreheads together again. it’s only now that kageyama realizes his hand is fisted in the front of hinata’s shirt, like he’s trying to keep him close, like he’s afraid of hinata running on ahead of him too soon. it’s stupid, really; kageyama has always maintained that he’s the better player than hinata, all around, even now, and that it’ll be _hinata_ always trying to catch up. but right now, it doesn’t feel like it.

“well,” sighs hinata. “i don’t want to play without you either, you know. even if you’re annoying and demanding and you smell bad.”

“no, i don’t.”

“do, too.”

“i thought you said you were going to miss me.”

“i will. i don’t like it.” hinata hums, closing his eyes. “it’s going to be weird. and scary. but we just have to use that fear, you know? it’ll make us stronger. besides—” now he pulls back from kageyama, enough that when he opens his eyes, kageyama can look right at him, can see his face through the darkness, can _know_ he means every word wholeheartedly—“we made a promise, didn’t we?”

kageyama swallows.

“top of the world,” says hinata.

“no matter what it takes,” nods kageyama.

“i’m going to kick your ass so hard. i’m finally going to beat you, kageyama tobio. and it’s going to be the best day ever.” hinata grins something feral, a vision of raw determination and restless need for volleyball, just like he’s always been.

kageyama’s vision blurs, suddenly. they made that promise almost three years ago now—their promise to conquer the world together, and to conquer _each other_ at the top of the world. their promise to make it there together, whether it takes ten or twenty or thirty years. he meant it. hinata meant it. they’ve meant it every day since then, and they’ll mean it every day from here on out—through their last nationals, and through graduation, and through whatever comes next.

they’re going to face each other once more. they’re going to make it to the top of the world together, and hinata is right—it’s going to be the best fucking day ever.

“so don’t worry too much,” says hinata. “no matter where we go after this, or what teams we play on, or what countries we play in—we still have that promise. and i know _i’m_ not going to flake, so you better not.”

“obviously i’m not,” kageyama huffs, trying to blink away the wetness of his eyes without making it obvious that he’s gotten emotional in the first place. for good measure, he adds a weak, “dumbass. i’m going to get there before you, anyway.”

“asshole.”

“i’ll wait for you.” he can see hinata hesitate, perhaps taken aback by the words. but kageyama knows his own heart now better than ever before. “i waited for you once, so i can wait for you again. as long as it takes. as many _tries_ as it takes, _hinata_ —” he hiccups in a breath, chest tightening, hand jerking to grip hinata’s wrist where his hand is still pressed over kageyama’s heart. “i’d wait my entire life for you.”

for a time, hinata merely stares at him, seemingly shocked by the words. but surely… surely he must know. surely he must _know_ how kageyama’s attention never wavers, and how kageyama’s eyes never stray, and how kageyama’s heart never drifts. it’s always been hinata. it’s only _ever_ been hinata, and all at once, kageyama is in love with his best friend.

or—no, that’s not right. kageyama has been in love with his best friend for two years. he hasn’t _known_ for much of that time, but he’s kept that knowledge tucked away in some careful part of his mind where it might not hurt either of them. but there’s no ignoring it now, with this fear that has been suffocating him, and his reluctance to let karasuno go, and all of these promises, and of course. _of course._

he doesn’t want nationals to end and high school to end and karasuno to end not only because he wants to keep playing volleyball with hinata, but also because he is in love with hinata, and he’d be stupid not to think those feelings are reciprocated at least partway, and suddenly, there’s no time left and no guarantee of a future where anything can be _right_ between them, and _playing volleyball with hinata_ has meant _being with hinata_ for three years now, and _being with hinata_ has meant _getting to love him, little by little,_ and now…

now.

the hand on kageyama’s chest curls into his chest, tight in a fist, and tugs him forward so sharply that kageyama almost yelps in surprise, and then hinata kisses him.

hinata kisses him _hard._

(apropos of nothing, kageyama remembers the first time he saw hinata jump. he remembers standing on the other side of the net from him, and watching the toss go up, and seeing the little captain of the opposing team jump so high that he could have been flying.

he remembers thinking, _oh. there he is._

kageyama remembers thinking it, too, on his first day at karasuno, when he’d headed to the gym to practice serves before handing in his application to the volleyball team. he remembers turning to see hinata then, too, horrified at realizing they would not, in fact, be opponents anymore, and the moment before his own shock settled in, he remembers thinking— _oh. there he is._

and every day since then, for three fucking years, each time kageyama has laid eyes on hinata, some part of his heart has gone: _oh. there he is. there he is. there he is._ the one kageyama was waiting for. the one he was promised. sometimes he wonders if soulmates exist. sometimes he wonders if _oh, there he is_ is a good reason to want to spend the rest of his life with someone.

and anyway—hinata kisses him. hinata kisses him and kageyama’s heart, same as it always has been, sighs.

_oh. there he is.)_

it’s not the first time. but kageyama is still startled by the sudden press of lips against his, firm and clawing at desperation, and he jerks back in surprise. it doesn’t scare hinata off, though, who pursues him until nearly every inch of them is pressed together. his hand is still fisted in kageyama’s shirt, his other now clutching at kageyama’s cheek, and kageyama is only aware of the warmth of hinata’s body, like his skin is burning through kageyama’s where they touch. but it’s the sort of burn that he aches for, that he knows is always worth it, so as hinata’s mouth returns, kageyama’s finally relaxes against him.

he feels more than hears hinata sigh, body going slack, as though he’s relieved—as though he could have any reason to think kageyama wouldn’t receive this with utmost adoration and enthusiasm, as though kageyama hasn’t been _pining_ for the better part of their friendship. but maybe hinata doesn’t really know, because neither of them has said anything despite the palpable _something_ between them.

tsukishima and yamaguchi and even yachi like to joke that kageyama and hinata have no thoughts other than volleyball, and maybe that wouldn’t seem right, but for kageyama, volleyball _is_ hinata. volleyball is feeling the ball fit perfectly in his hands the moment before he sends it soaring across the court and into hinata’s striking palm. volleyball is hearing that call for a toss over and over and over and always knowing he’s making the right choice when he sends the ball to hinata. volleyball is seeing that fire in hinata’s eyes when they stand tall against a strong opponent, and lying on the gym floor together after a particularly hard practice, breathing deep and hard and not needing the words to know what they need to work on tomorrow, and pushing each other every day, and connecting without words, and feeling like he’s flying with both feet on the ground simply because he’s watching _hinata_ fly. volleyball is everything kageyama loves. volleyball is _this._

so… yeah. _yeah._ he only ever fucking thinks about volleyball.

“hinata,” he mumbles against hinata’s mouth, but hinata shows no desire to pull back; he opens his mouth over kageyama’s, prying kageyama’s open with it, and kageyama feels himself go lightheaded at the hot air passed between them. hinata slides his knee over kageyama’s hip, almost clumsy, and this position isn’t comfortable anymore, arms awkward and twisted, so kageyama wraps his arm around hinata’s waist and rolls onto his back, allowing hinata to straddle him properly.

this time, it’s hinata who lets out a surprised noise, but finally, _finally_ —kageyama surges up until their mouths meet again, holding hinata close close _close,_ and hinata’s hand slides into his bed-mussed hair, and it doesn’t matter that they’re both clumsy and inexperienced, and that their teeth knock together once in a while, and that, when hinata lets his tongue curve along kageyama’s lower lip, kageyama is so startled that he nearly _bites_ it out of reflex.

they were clumsy on the court when they first started, too, always just missing each other, always one step off. but they wanted that, and now they want _this._ and kageyama doesn’t care anyway, because it’s hinata, and kissing hinata is probably what winning nationals would feel like. better, perhaps—like winning worlds. like winning an olympic gold medal. like hearing _i’m here i’m here i’m here_ over and over until his ears bleed with it.

kissing hinata is like… kissing hinata, plain and simple. there’s nothing he can compare it to that could begin to capture the thrill of it, and the safety, and the way it makes him feel as though there might not be much to fear about nationals after all. not if he has this. not if he has hinata, even without karasuno and this team and volleyball to ground them.

hinata’s thighs settle on either side of kageyama’s hips, sturdier and thicker than they were three years ago, and something about that—about how much hinata has grown purely physically since they met—makes kageyama’s stomach twist embarrassingly, caught between feeling horrified at how such small details are affecting him so much and placating himself with the fact that he’s pined after hinata for so long that it was always going to come to something like this.

he focuses on hinata’s mouth, then, and the way it captures his own, lips daring to part and tongue daring to meet kageyama’s in the middle. kageyama’s heart jumps erratically as he tightens his arm around hinata’s waist and revels in the sound that hinata makes in the back of his throat, vibrating through kageyama’s mouth.

and maybe he doesn’t mean to—maybe it’s just in response to kageyama’s hold—but hinata moves his hips a little, like he’s trying to scoot up a bit more where they’re pressed together, and kageyama’s vision goes white for a second.

“ _hin—_ wait,” he gasps, breaking the kiss to drop his head back against his pillow. when he opens his eyes and sees his ceiling light, he suddenly remembers where they are. this is his bedroom. his _parents_ are just down the hall. they’ve surely been grateful to have a son whose only late nights are spent hitting a volleyball until his palms bleed, but now, this close to leaving home, of all times—

“what?” hinata asks, but his voice is rough and not confused at all. kageyama hears the smirk in it, and when they meet eyes, he’s greeted with the sight of a kiss drunk hinata shoyo—hair flattened on one side and wild on the other, lips shining and swollen, gaze darting between kageyama’s eyes and his mouth like he can’t decide which he’d rather focus on. his breathing is as uneven as kageyama’s own. perhaps it should satisfy him, but kageyama actually feels a little terrified for himself.

“don’t— _hinata,_ ” hisses kageyama when the beginning of his warning is immediately met with hinata shifting again, deliberately this time, and leaning down to kiss kageyama again. he’s an insufferable little shit. kageyama hates him. kageyama hates him. but he can’t help yearning for that touch, anyway, even as he growls out, “i’m _serious,_ hinata; my parents are—”

“don’t talk about your parents while we’re making out, kageyama-kun,” huffs hinata, peppering a kiss over kageyama’s mouth, and then the corner of his mouth, and then over his jaw, and then under his jaw, and—

“fuck,” kageyama sighs, toes curling. “fuck, hinata— _shoyo—_ ”

“better,” murmurs hinata as he kisses a line down kageyama’s throat, and he can’t be stupid enough to try giving kageyama a hickey when there’s no reasonable way to cover it while wearing a jersey, but hinata might not _care._ he might actually like it. and anyway—kageyama is in no position to refuse, desperately trying not to arch up against hinata’s body when hinata nips at his adam’s apple, and kageyama is left staring at the ceiling, wondering how many nights he’s done the same thing but without hinata here, wishing he was. wishing for something different, something _more._ wishing he knew of a way to speak of love off of the court.

but it finally occurs to him now that maybe he doesn’t need to. this is _hinata_ he’s thinking of. they’ve always spoken the same language.

so—“hinata,” says kageyama, clarity settling over him all at once. all of these fears and worries that have been plaguing him tonight mellow now, not just because hinata is here and knows and _understands,_ but because he realizes it doesn’t matter if they’re not on the same team anymore. “hinata,” he repeats, sliding a hand into hinata’s hair and tugging at it, lightly, _gently._ it doesn’t matter if they’re on opposite teams, or on opposite sides of the world. “ _shoyo_ —” he tugs a little harder but hinata comes willingly, lifting his head to finally meet kageyama’s eyes.

kageyama looks at him. he _looks._ and when he does, he realizes the only truth he’ll ever need: it doesn’t matter what happens to them in volleyball after nationals or graduation, because in the end, even when everything else around them and about them changes, one simple thing is always going to remain the same:

“i love you.”

kageyama blinks, and it takes him a second to realize… _he_ didn’t say that. and hinata is grinning at him, grinning like he does whenever he beats kageyama.

“that’s what you were about to say, isn’t it?” asks hinata.

kageyama’s mouth opens and then closes. and then opens and closes again. he can feel his face heating for a reason other than the fact that they’re still pressed together and have been making out for five minutes, and—hinata— _hinata_ —

“well, i said it first,” says hinata, and the wobble in his voice betrays the confidence he’s trying to portray with his expression. “so i win.”

“it’s not a competition, dumbass!” kageyama finally says, but the words lack their usual bite.

“i still win!”

“it doesn’t count!”

“does, too! now i’m only one behind you!”

“one?” kageyama pauses, brows furrowing. “but i beat you on the way to practice this morning.”

hinata’s eyes narrow. “shit, you’re right. okay, _two_ behind you.”

“which is where you’ll stay, by the way.”

hinata sticks his tongue out childishly, but it makes kageyama huff with laughter. and then he remembers why they’re arguing in the first place, and—oh. his cheeks flare again. hinata must notice, because the smug look on his face disappears, his moment of bravado passed, and he folds his arms over kageyama’s chest so he can rest his head on his hands.

“you can say it, if you want,” he says quietly.

kageyama swallows. his own confidence has disappeared now that hinata isn’t busying pretending not to suck a mark in his neck, and he averts his eyes, staring at the wall for a terse moment before he says, “well, you know already.”

“kageyama-kun.”

“we have a big day tomorrow,” he clears his throat, trying to shove hinata off of him. “nationals and all that. we should get a lot of sleep and it’s a bad idea to be distracted.”

“ _kageyama._ ”

“you heard takeda-sensei. it’s our last chance to win so we can’t be thinking about anything other than how to get the next point.” he manages to get hinata off of him and rolls to face the wall, still flustered and overwhelmed and dare he say a little _shy_ about it. because—because hinata said it first. hinata _said it at all._ and he’s been hoping and wanting for so long that even that is taking too long to process, and he _doesn’t_ need a distraction tomorrow, and having this conversation now is suddenly the worst thing he can think of.

surprisingly, hinata doesn’t demand anything out of him. he just shuffles over to kageyama’s side of the bed and worms his arm under kageyama’s so he can wrap it around kageyama’s waist. then there’s warm breath tickling kageyama’s neck, behind his ear—“tobio,” says hinata.

“i’m going to sleep,” says kageyama stubbornly. “we seriously can’t be distracted tomorrow.” he thinks of waiting again. he _has_ been waiting for hinata for a very long time. but now he realizes hinata has been waiting for him, too, and one more day—one more _week._ one more nationals. kageyama wants to kiss hinata silly with a gold medal hanging around their necks.

hinata relents, but stays pressed against kageyama’s back in a reverse of how this began. this time, though, he kisses the back of kageyama’s neck, feather light, enough to make him shiver. “okay,” he says. “we’re going to win, right?”

“yeah,” says kageyama. “of course.”

hinata hums, settling a little more, but kageyama’s eyes remain wide open as he stares at the wall. he counts hinata’s breaths, chest rising and falling against the sturdiness of kageyama’s back, and when he’s sure they’ve evened out into sleep, he whispers, “i love you, too.”

he feels hinata’s mouth, pressed to the back of his neck, curve into a grin, and kageyama turns his face into his own pillow, willing away the heat that licks at his cheeks. he’ll take that loss, maybe. hinata _has_ always been the more likely of the two of them to say such bold things, seemingly unafraid of the consequences. or maybe he did know all along that there was no reason to be fearful, that kageyama has yearned for him so deeply in these past few years. maybe in some way, they both knew it would come to this, and that it would always feel like hitting that first quick—new and terrifying, but so right. but just the way it ought to be.

and all at once—

kageyama isn’t so afraid anymore. he’s had hinata’s trust for years, and now with his heart—kageyama can fly, too.

☀

hinata calls for a toss, and all at once, kageyama realizes this is the last time.

or—that shouldn’t be right. they’re one point behind itachiyama, but itachiyama is at match point, and kageyama has never tossed to hinata and thought they were going to _lose,_ and yet something settles over him in the moment that the ball leaves his fingers. he watches it spiral through the air, watches hinata’s hungry, sweat-streaked face.

this is the closest they’ve ever gotten: the semi-finals. they’re so close to the national title that kageyama can _taste_ it, and he knows hinata can, too. they both want to stand on this court for as long as they can. but in light of his revelations the night before nationals, kageyama realizes that if this _is_ the last time, it might not be as devastating as he was anticipating.

and anyway—hinata spikes the ball so hard that it knocks itachiyama’s libero off of his feet receiving it. but receive it he does, and then, within ten seconds, the ball comes barreling down on the court.

on karasuno’s side of the court.

oh, kageyama knows this feeling well—this moment of shock and horror as he stares at where the ball rolls off of the court and the stands, along with his opponents, erupt in cheers, and there’s something belated about his own reaction. but they lost. again. to someone stronger, someone who, at least _today,_ was able to play a better game than them, if only slightly. through heavy breathing and sweat dripping off of his face, kageyama looks at the players celebrating on the other side of the net. it _should_ be them. it should be them going on to the finals and finally, _finally_ winning it all.

someone places a hand on his back, between his shoulder blades, and kageyama looks up to see yamaguchi standing next to him. his own face is soaked with sweat, but his eyes are soft, and kageyama can see the way his jaw is tensed, like he’s trying to keep it together—at least for now, for the rest of the team, like the captain ought to. kageyama nods once as yamaguchi squeezes the back of his neck, and when he straightens, tsukishima passes him with a clap to the shoulder. in it, he says everything he needs to.

kageyama finds that yamaguchi and tsukishima, along with the first and seconds years, have already begun lining up at the back of the court. but there’s one player missing.

hinata is still standing at the net, fingers barely caught in the black threads like he can’t even make himself let go. kageyama thinks back with both frustration and fondness on the times hinata has been so stubborn about it, wanting to stay on the court, wanting to keep winning. but they haven’t won—not this time. but watching hinata stare out at itachiyama’s celebration, kageyama realizes once more that the future doesn’t have to be so terrifying. it’s only in the future—after karasuno, wherever they go—that they’ll be able to stand on the court once more. and this time, they can stay for as long as they fucking want.

just as kageyama opens his mouth to call out, hinata turns to look at him. across this court, their eyes meet for the final time—the final time as karasuno’s greatest duo, the genius setter and the ultimate decoy, number nine and ten and two and five. the final time as _this—_ high schoolers reaching for something more and always coming _just_ short.

hinata looks at him, and suddenly, it’s over. the past three years, the tireless practices, the lunch breaks spent scheming on new techniques. the excuses to walk hinata home, or at least partway there, the bus rides to tokyo for practice matches with nekoma and fukurodani spent sleeping on each other’s shoulders and then complaining about the drool. this is exactly what kageyama was so terrified of just a week ago—and for much longer than that, although he’d been repressing it for so long.

but now that this one step toward the unknown has been taken, he realizes it’s not so bad. because now they get to be even greater. they get to train harder, with even better teammates and against each stronger opponents. now they get to race to the world stage. in this moment, as he watches hinata and hinata watches him, kageyama realizes for the final time that there’s nothing to fear beyond karasuno, because one thing will always remain: this boy on the cusp of manhood, this ethereal being with hair like sunshine and feet like wings, is still going to be his greatest challenge and his greatest rival.

here, they’ve simply completed the first step. the first competition. now they get to spend the rest of their lives fighting for something more. and while kageyama wishes so badly that they could have gone on and won nationals, the sting of losing is dampened when he realizes that now they can finally take their next step. no matter where he goes, he’s always going to carry hinata with him. he’s always going to be striving for more and reaching for greater heights _because_ of hinata. they’ll say goodbye to karasuno now, but even as the exhaustion and emotion take him over, kageyama feels the thrum of excitement and anticipation hold fast within him.

it’s hinata. it’s always been hinata and it always will be, whether in high school or the v.league or the national team. it always will be, even outside of volleyball. this—this is his someone stronger. this is the person his grandfather promised would find him, would challenge him, would allow kageyama to live so fully that he could burst with it.

he could burst with it now. he wants to do this with hinata for the rest of his life. and now, as bittersweet as losing nationals is, he finally gets to.

without a word, they make their way across the court together. they stand at the serving line together. they bow to their opponents together, thanking them for a game well played. when they turn to the stands behind them to thank the droves of supporters who came to cheer them on, kageyama feels something bump against his hand, and then—fingers seeking, searching. hinata hooks his pinkie around kageyama’s as they bow, and he knows, without needing to hear the words, what hinata is telling him: _no matter how long it takes. no matter how many tries. one day._

_one day._

kageyama doesn’t realize he’s crying until the tears are dropping from his closed eyes and hitting the gymnasium floor below him, the very last thing kageyama will ever leave on the court as karasuno’s beloved setter.

☀

it’s hinata who finds him first, after it all. most of the others have gone to catch the other semi-finals match before they head out for a team dinner, but kageyama has found himself a secluded corridor of the gymnasium building to call his parents about the match. he’s just hung up when he hears footsteps and nearly startles, but when he turns, it’s hinata. hinata, with his eyes still a little red and his expression a little muddled.

he comes to a stop before kageyama, hands grasping at the strap of his bag as his brows furrow. kageyama’s own hands are in his pockets, shoulders hiked up toward his ears in some self-conscious gesture of not knowing what to say.

then hinata, his voice strained, asks, “we almost had it, huh?”

kageyama lets out a breath. “yeah.” he tilts his head. “that’s it.”

it feels like there should be so much more to say, but… what can they say now? they both know, anyway.

so, after a silent minute, kageyama says, “i guess we could have made out more if we were just going to lose anyway.”

it takes a beat or two, but then hinata’s lips curl up on one side, a crooked grin that slips out despite the obvious way he’s trying not to laugh. and no, it’s not funny. they lost. this was their last nationals and they fucking _lost._ they won’t get another chance, and they won’t get to play on the same court as karasuno anymore, and they won’t ever get to take the title of national champions back home. but they did well. for three years, they’ve done exceptionally well. and now kageyama understands that even if he’s upset about one thing ending, that sadness only makes him all the more excited to begin again come graduation and beyond. he hungers for it all the more now. and he knows hinata does too.

besides—he has something else to look forward to now.

“well, now we don’t have to worry about things we shouldn’t get distracted from,” says hinata.

“what about exams?” asks kageyama.

“are you trying to find an excuse not to make out with me all the time?”

“i’m just saying we’re still in school.”

“when have you _ever_ cared about exams?”

“i’m just _saying_ —”

hinata steps forward, and kageyama thinks hinata is going to kiss him to shut him up, but instead, hinata just moves into kageyama’s space, winds his arms around kageyama’s torso, and hugs him. his face fits into the crook of kageyama’s neck, breath warm against skin, and he doesn’t fully relax until kageyama lifts his arms and returns the embrace.

they stay like that for seconds that stretch into one minute, two, three. and then hinata says, voice muffled into kageyama’s throat, “thank you for taking me seriously, back then. that first game in middle school, when i didn’t even have a real team and everyone was laughing at us. you didn’t see me as an easy stepping stone on your way to victory. you saw me as an opponent to defeat.”

kageyama’s brows furrow. “because you were.”

“i know. but i was used to people scoffing at me for thinking i could win. and to this day, you’ve never been one of those people. you’ve always seen me as a worthy opponent, even when my receives were shit and i served into the back of your head and i kept my eyes closed while spiking.”

it feels like his throat is going to close up, arms tightening around hinata’s body. he turns his head so he can press his cheek into the top of hinata’s hair, and says nothing.

so hinata continues, “because of you, i wanted to become as strong as possible. because of you, i still do. and because of you, i _will._ i just want you to know that.”

kageyama swallows. “let’s do this forever,” he says, suddenly overwhelmed. “let’s fight and compete and race and play volleyball.” hinata pulls back enough to look him in the eye, a wistful curve on his mouth. “the past three years have been crazy and fun and so fucking hard, and i don’t want it to stop. so let’s just… let’s just be together. forever. you’re… you’re half of me now, you know?” even he isn’t sure exactly what he’s asking—but he thinks hinata gets it. they’re partners in more than just volleyball and have been for some time now. it’s just that kageyama now has the words for the feeling he gets around hinata, and the one he gets when hinata isn’t there.

the responding smile he gets is almost blinding. “okay, kageyama-kun,” says hinata. “let’s do this forever.”

this time, it’s kageyama who kisses hinata first. this time, it’s careful and almost tentative, seeking and asking for permission. he can feel hinata grinning into it, this beginning so unlike their first, and kageyama can’t help but think this is the one thing he’s never been afraid of. this is the one thing that makes all over things a little easier to overcome, because he knows no matter what happens, he and hinata are always going to come back to each other in the end. they’re always going to meet on that court in the end. it might take ten years. it might take twenty. but they’ll always be _together._

(“hey, hinata,” he murmurs as he pulls back, hands fitting on either side of hinata’s face. “i love you. you know what that means?”

hinata’s face is as pink as kageyama’s feels, and his eyes are a little unfocused, but he just quirks a brow at kageyama.

now kageyama’s grin turns something devilish. “i win this time.”

there’s immediately a frown on hinata’s face, and—“hey!” he snaps. “i thought you said it wasn’t a competition!”

“that’s because i lost last time.”

“that’s not fair!”

“we’re even now, then.”

“shut up. i love you, too.”

“i love you _more._ ”

“that’s _definitely_ not a competition.”

“why, because you know you’d lose?”

“god, i should have just fallen in love with kenma.”

“brat,” kageyama chides, but he’s laughing all the same, and when he pulls hinata in for another kiss, he thinks of endings and beginnings. he thinks of lasts and firsts. he thinks of everything he’s worked for these past three years, and the three before that. he thinks of the years he has ahead of him, the great uncertainty of it all.

right now, that future has never seemed less terrifying. it’s not so unknown, after all. now, that future just… looks a lot like hinata shoyo. and kageyama is sure as hell going to win at that, too.)

**Author's Note:**

> [+twitter](https://twitter.com/tododucks)   
>  [ +curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/notyoongs)


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